


where there's space between

by santanico



Category: Polygon/McElroy Vlogs & Podcasts RPF
Genre: Bars and Pubs, Bathroom Sex, Casual Sex, Hand Jobs, M/M, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-22
Updated: 2018-02-22
Packaged: 2019-03-22 11:37:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13763304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/santanico/pseuds/santanico
Summary: Brian swallows and takes hold of his beer, sits back just enough to take a few long gulps. Griffin’s staring at him. Griffin McElroy’s just staring at him, mouth slightly open, tongue between his teeth.





	where there's space between

**Author's Note:**

> i didn't think the first thing i posted in six months would be this, let alone something written in a rush in a day lol

Brian meets Griffin in person for the first time when Griffin shows up to the NYC office unannounced to anyone except Tara and, for some reason, Pat.

Brian knows better than to expect something tremendous - if he’s honest, which he hasn’t much been, he only started listening to the backlog of MBMBAM right after he started at Polygon, and he hasn’t watched most of Monster Factory. He stares at Griffin, someone who he’s spoken to, who he’s emailed and Skype’d with before, and he goes completely blank-faced.

Griffin, thank God, doesn’t miss a beat.

“Oh hey, nice to meet’cha,” he says, passing over Allegra’s desk and patting Brian on the shoulder. Brian stands at that same second, creating an awkward wave when Griffin’s hand rests too hard on Brian’s bony shoulder.

“Yeah,” Brian says, because he’s prone to just letting go of the first word that pops into his head. “Uh, this is weird.”

Pat and Simone are hovering near Allegra, and Brian feels _watched_ , stared at, even though he’s pretty sure, in the rational part of his brain, that everyone’s just politely waiting for a chance to greet Griffin. And that’s the thing, about Griffin - he radiates some sort of energy, something oddly powerful and invigorating, and the quiet hum of anxiety in the office has been lifted. Instead, the hum is loud now, more of a buzz, and more of an anxious twittering than anything else.

“You’ll get used to it,” Griffin says, because he knows what to say, and he reaches out to shake Brian’s hand and Brian doesn’t have the foresight to meet him halfway so he hesitates, then finally grips Griffin’s palm, trying not to think about how goddamn sweaty he is. Griffin is merciful. He doesn’t comment.

-

“Drinks later?”

Simone’s leaning over him from behind, her hands on his shoulder, peering at the audio he’s editing on his computer.

“Sure, why, what are we celebrating?”

Simone leans down further, her hair brushing his left ear. “Griffin’s here,” she says. “You and Jenna haven’t had time to go out with him yet, and it’s like, one of our things. Drinks and dinner when a McElroy stops by.”

Brian hums. He’s making good time with this week’s projects, and although the thought of going for drinks with Griffin McElroy makes his entire body go numb, he brushes it off for now. “Are we meeting somewhere after work?”

The truth is he’d never felt comfortable going out with coworkers before Polygon, and Polygon probably does it a little too frequently, and he’s managed to avoid several dates with excuses about having to clean his apartment or meet his sister for brunch the next morning. Usually, when he avoids that hard, his coworkers would get the hint and stop inviting him to things. Simone, thankfully, is more oblivious, or she just doesn’t care.

“Just outside the office, we haven’t decided where.” Simone stands up straight suddenly, and the lack of her presence makes the space feel cold. “You’ll find us. Jenna, Jeff, Julia, Allegra, Pat, me, Griffin - I think that’s everyone. Russ has dinner plans.” She hesitates. “Tara might come, but she’s always a bit of a wildcard like that, so we’ll have to wait until five to find out. I think that’s everyone.” Brian glances over his shoulder, hoping to get a read on Simone - she’s biting her lip, probably going through all of her coworkers in her head. “Yeah, that’s it. See ya then, hm?”

Brian nods. “Yeah, yeah, sure.”

-

Griffin, Brian notices, is woefully dressed for February in New York. He complains the entire walk to the bar, the group shuffling along. Jeff bailed last minute, and Allegra too, but Jenna and Pat take up the rear while Simone and Julia lead them.

“Figure skating tonight,” Simone had said as they were leaving, solemnly. “So it’s kind of a walk, but it’s a good bar, I promise.”

Brian doesn’t know what that means, but he doesn’t question it.

To Griffin, he asks, “Why didn’t you bring a scarf?”

Griffin looks at him, glasses at the tip of his nose, and scowls.

“Not trying to offend,” Brian says, pulling his hat down further over his ears. It hasn’t snowed too badly, but the chill still sinks between the buildings. Griffin’s wearing jeans, sneakers, a button up and what looks like a spring jacket that doesn’t even have a hood.

“I’m used to Texas,” Griffin says, which doesn’t seem like a good excuse really, if at all, but Brian nods.

“It’s hard to adjust,” he says, and he hates this, this small-talk, wonders how he got stuck sandwiched between the people he knows with someone he’s barely spoken to in real time. 

Brian tries desperately to think of something else to say, but nothing comes to mind. So they walk in silence while Simone and Julia swing their arms together, clasping hands, and Jenna and Pat complain about the state of their shoes behind them.

-

The bar is a tiny, cramped, hole-in-the-wall type place with one TV blaring the Olympics so loudly Brian can barely hear his own voice. The bartender seems unfazed by the group that enters, and Simone waves at her like they’re good friends and follows up on her promise to buy everyone a round to start. They end up shoved into a corner booth, and Brian finds himself in the center, Griffin’s thigh pressed against his left leg and Jenna on his other side, one arm swung around him. Pat and Simone crowd in next to Griffin and Julia ends up on Jenna’s other side.

As such, Brian finds himself being faced by Griffin. Griffin, whose leg is still pressed warm against Brian’s.

Brian doesn’t know what that means.

“How long have you made music?”

“Uh,” Brian says. He sees Griffin’s eyes flick towards the ceiling. It’s almost an eyeroll. It’s almost too much. A rushing wave of shame and confusion hits Brian and he stutters again. “Since middle school. I mean, the electronic - the, the more, the computer stuff, more like when I was in college, but um, music theory....”

“Longer than me, then,” Griffin says, and now he’s smiling, and Brian is so confused. The bartender has their beers. Simone passes the bottles around and the conversation pauses, everyone reaching up to tap the necks together. It’s cheap beer for a New York bar, but not bad, all things considered. It’s cold, and Brian’s thankful for that, because Jenna and Griffin’s bodies are both excruciatingly hot now, and Simone’s voice is so loud, and Pat’s trying to overcome her, laughing and leaning fully into her, until Simone’s wrapping her arms around Pat’s shoulders and burying her face in his neck.

“Longer than you,” Brian echoes when the commotion of cheers has died down. “But what’s that all mean in the grand scheme of things?”

“Dunno,” Griffin admits. “You wanna pursue it? Beyond little videos about games?”

Brian doesn’t have a concrete answer for that, so he shrugs. Griffin’s eyes are so bright. And they’re so close.

“You should share some more of your stuff.”

“I don’t have anything else at work that needs it,” he says, ignoring Griffin’s implication.

Again, Griffin’s eyes flick towards the ceiling. Brian would miss it if they weren’t nearly facing each other, if he wasn’t so twisted in his seat. Griffin’s leg is still warm, but then it shifts, and the difference is noticeable but replaced, almost immediately, by a hand resting on Brian’s knee.

Brian doesn’t twitch, exactly. Doesn’t flinch. But he must react somehow because he sees the miniscule difference on Griffin’s face, the slight arching of his eyebrows over his glasses, his lips pursed. Not too tightly. Not too tense.

So Brian leans forward.

Griffin’s posture reacts.

Brian swallows and takes hold of his beer, sits back just enough to take a few long gulps. Griffin’s staring at him. Griffin McElroy’s just staring at him, mouth slightly open, tongue between his teeth.

“You should send me something,” Griffin says. He picks up like no time has passed, and in reality, outside of Brian’s throbbing head, it’s maybe been twenty seconds. “Something not work related, I mean. If you’re comfortable with that?”

Brian nods. “Sure, yeah,” he says, and he tries to think of anything he’s made recently that isn’t just pieces-parts, or isn’t for a Week in Revue, or another video Tara had assigned him or Simone had suggested. Griffin keeps drinking his beer and the conversation lulls a little. Not that they were really conversing much, but words hang on the tip of Brian’s tongue and he doesn’t know what to say, and it feels like Griffin is waiting.

Simone and Julia have their eyes glued on the TV now, and although Brian had been nervous about how loud it was when he’d first entered, he’s barely absorbed anything that was going on. Focused on Griffin. His faces flushes to think it.

He’s not even sure what they’re watching - pairs or ice dancing, he doesn’t keep up, he doesn’t have enough running knowledge to talk about it except jokingly, he knows the famous Canadians because Simone’s tweeted about them a couple of times but beyond that he can only comment on physiques and make less-than-insightful comments about lutzes or axles or whatever other jumps skaters do.

Simone gasps and Julia coos as a man throws his partner into the air and she twists before landing on one foot. Brian can hardly comprehend the skill.

As the excitement dies down, Pat and Simone get up and head over to the bar to do shots. Brian watches them, leaning on the table. He’s forgotten about the hand on his knee, which is now shifting up his thigh. Brian rakes his brain for the last time someone actually came onto him like this and he comes up completely short. Literally never, is the best response he comes up with. Griffin’s middle and forefinger press along the seam of Brian’s jeans, at the inside of his thigh. He shudders.

Jenna and Julia are having another drink, seemingly ignoring Brian and Griffin. Brian wonders if it’s obvious and everyone’s being polite. Griffin’s still nursing his first beer - he’s only had half of it. Brian’s brain shortcircuits and then, as he watched Simone woop and clap staring at the TV, he makes a decision.

“Scoot,” he says to Griffin, and Griffin is immediately off him, almost disappointingly so, stepping out of the booth. There’s something more like confusion in Griffin’s face now, a half-frown, and he pushes his glasses up his nose and waits as Brian slips out of the booth as well. “Bathroom,” he says to Griffin, like he’s explaining, and when Jenna and Julia glance at him he says the same thing.

“Me too, now that you mention it,” Griffin says, and Brian lets out the breath he’d been holding and walks - maybe too hurriedly - towards the back of the bar, where the restrooms are.

It takes Griffin three seconds when the door is closed behind them to shove Brian up against it. He doesn’t dive into anything, doesn’t push, just grips Brian’s shoulders and stares him down.

“Uh huh,” Brian says.

Griffin’s fast, efficient, tugs the zipper down first and then undoes the button in Brian’s jeans. “Shit, shit,” Griffin mumbles, shoving a hand into Brian’s jeans, gripping his cock through his underwear.

“Christ,” Brian breathes out. He’s getting hard already, Griffin’s warm hand pressed against him, rubbing him through the fabric. Brian sighs again, knocks his head against the door. It’s a single-stall, door locked, lights bright yellow and flickering in the ceiling. It’s probably also the grossest place anyone’s ever touched him in, but that’s a secondary thought because Griffin is grazing teeth along his neck, sucking light at patches of his skin.

“You good?” Griffin says, and Griffin’s voice is unfamiliar, deeper than usual, a little gritted, so Brian sighs and shuffles his legs a little further apart, widens his stance so he doesn’t feel like he’s about to sink into the concrete.

“Good,” Brian says, and it’s the only word he’s even capable of thinking. Griffin’s hand shifts, warm palm on Brian’s dick, and Brian’s breath hitches and he jerks his hips. He lifts his arms, hanging at his sides till then, and takes hold of the ends of Griffin’s jacket.

“Open your mouth,” Griffin says, and his voice is quivering, just barely, just enough that Brian can hear the crack, subtle, almost distant. Brian doesn’t hesitate, and when he blinks, glasses askew, Griffin’s holding his palm out in front of Brian’s face. Brian licks, from wrist to fingertip, his head hot. Griffin tastes like sweat, skin, dirt, oil. Brian lets his tongue linger on the tip of Griffin’s middle finger and has a moment to process before that hot hand is wrapped around his cock. Even with Brian’s saliva it’s rough and too hot, not slick at all, but Brian’s never preferred the easy route.

“Hey - hey, hey,” Griffin says, almost soothing, and it counterweights the rough tug of his fist. Brian bites his lip, holds on tighter to Griffin’s jacket. Griffin’s pushing Brian’s jeans further down his hips with his spare hand and Brian laughs, the sound choked, as Griffin drags his thumb over the tip.

Griffin’s not putting on a show by any means and Brian’s grateful for it, his anxiety creeping into the edges of his brain, reminders that their friends are out there, maybe wondering where they are by now, noticing there’s two people in one stall.

“Oh, God, Griffin,” Brian pants, and he wishes he could think of something clever to say, something to get Griffin excited instead of them both just sweaty and rutting, but everything’s muddy and Griffin’s tugging Brian’s ear between his teeth and whispering these kind of broken sentences that Brian only hears half of anyway.

“Been thinking about getting you off,” and “Look pretty on your knees,” and “What’s taking so long?”

“Griffin, you gotta, I’m gonna,” Brian says, interrupting one of Griffin’s mumblings, and he swears Griffin sort of laughs, hums close to Brian’s ear again, presses a thigh between Brian’s legs. Brian thinks his entire body is about to seize, and he tenses, grips at Griffin’s shoulders, leans back with his neck stretched taut. It only takes a few more twists from Griffin, being held tight against the door, and then everything spirals as he comes.

It’s like that for a moment, Brian’s body tingling as everything comes back into focus. Griffin keeps him steady and Brian relaxes, muscle by muscle, breathing deep through his nose.

“There ya go,” Griffin says, and his voice is soft now, buzzing in Brian’s head. “Just a sec. You good?”

“Good,” Brian says, even as his legs shake when Griffin lets go. Griffin comes back with a handful of toilet paper, and it’s not the most elegant Brian’s ever felt, but there’s something inherently warm about Griffin mopping him up, wiping off his hands, throwing the wad of tissues in the trash, and then gently pulling Brian’s jeans back to his hips.

“That was...fast,” Brian says, having caught his breath. Griffin laughs. It’s too loud for the space, kind of echoes, and Brian stays leaning against the door because moving seems impossible.

“Which part?” Griffin says, and he’s grinning, kind of lopsided, and Brian has to think for a second.

“All of it,” he decides, because it was pretty early when Griffin put a hand on his thigh and it’s not _late_ yet.

“Fair,” Griffin says, and he makes the first move, steps over to the sink and washes his hands, then he cups his palms under the tap and splashes his face with water. Brian waits, hovers, and as Griffin pats his face with a paper towel he says, “Sorry if I rushed things.”

Brian stands at the faucet, leaning against it - it’s precarious though, feels like someone strong enough could just lift the sink over their head if they wanted to - and hesitates. “Not that, just…”

“I’ll be in New York again,” Griffin says, and then, more cautiously, “but we can just chat next time, if you want.”

Brian can’t help but laugh, rubbing his palms together under the cold tap, washing away little bubbles on his cracked knuckles.

“You don’t have to worry about that,” he says, hears how hoarse his voice is. “Just - just let me know?” He knows how it sounds, this side of desperate, but he doesn’t care, he’s twenty-three and Griffin’s still standing in the bathroom with him, watching through the dirty mirror, and Griffin grins, eyes crinkling, pure earnesty, and Brian has to duck his head.

“I’ll go out first. Want me to make up some excuse?”

Brian shakes his head because he’s not sure he’s good enough of an actor to convince any of them of anything.

“I’ll see ya in a bit, okay? But take your time?”

Brian almost half-heartedly offers to return the favor next time they get the chance, but by the time the words find his mouth, Griffin’s gone, the door falling shut behind him.


End file.
